Just last week, as I scrolled through harrowing images from Buner district in Pakistan’s Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, I couldn’t shake the memory of a conversation with a local aid worker during the 2022 floods. “Nature strikes, but neglect kills,” he had said. His voice was heavy with frustration. Fast-forward to August 2025, and that sentiment rings truer than ever. Torrential rains and cloudbursts have unleashed a deluge that claimed over 200 lives in Buner alone. This is part of a nationwide toll exceeding 739 since June. Villages like Beshonai lie in ruins. Homes are buried under mud. Families are shattered. It reminds us that in a climate-vulnerable nation like Pakistan, disasters aren’t just acts of God. They’re amplified by human failings.
The aftermath paints a grim picture of survival. Residents huddle in makeshift camps on higher ground. Many are still traumatized. They’re too scared to return home amid forecasts of more rain until September. In one heart-wrenching story from the ground, a groom-to-be in Buner returned from work to find his entire family—24 members—wiped out by the floods. Wedding preparations turned into funerals. Current needs are immediate. Clean drinking water. Medicines. Winterized tents. Heavy machinery to clear debris and pump out stagnant water that breeds disease. Over 1,377 homes and 93 schools in KP have been damaged. Thousands of livestock are lost. This cripples rural livelihoods.
Looking ahead, the future demands more than quick fixes. Buner’s communities are predominantly agrarian. They face long-term economic ruin without rebuilt infrastructure. Restored farmlands. Climate-resilient housing. As one analyst noted in a recent OCHA update, without rapid assessments and targeted aid, recovery could drag on for years. This exacerbates poverty in a region already strained by past conflicts.
Amid the chaos, welfare groups have emerged as lifelines. They often fill gaps left by official responses. Organizations like the Pakistan Red Crescent, Shifa Foundation, and Fixit have mobilized swiftly. They’re distributing food, blankets, tents, and medical supplies to remote areas. Al-Khidmat Foundation’s women volunteers provided dignified burials for 80 female victims. It’s a poignant act in a conservative society where such roles are rarely highlighted. International partners, including UN agencies and NGOs like One Nation and Million Smiles Foundation, have delivered hot meals. They’ve set up medical camps. They’ve launched crowdfunding drives—such as a GoFundMe for Swat and Buner families. These efforts underscore a broader truth. In Pakistan’s flood-prone landscape, NGOs often act as first responders. They blend local knowledge with global resources.
Yet, their work isn’t without challenges. Coordination with authorities remains patchy. Funding shortfalls limit scale. Compared to the 2022 floods, where international aid poured in, this year’s response feels muted. Perhaps due to donor fatigue. Or competing global crises.
Politically, the response has been a mixed bag. It’s laced with criticism. The provincial government, under Chief Minister Ali Amin Gandapur, declared an emergency in nine districts including Buner. They released Rs1 billion for compensation. They dispatched 89 truckloads of aid. Gandapur’s visit and announcement of Rs2 million per deceased family were welcome. But locals accuse officials of failing to issue timely warnings. This despite $9.8 million in preparedness funding. It echoes a pattern. Provincial administrations prioritize reactive measures over proactive ones. Like early evacuation drills.
At the federal level, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif directed the National Disaster Management Authority (NDMA) to expedite rescues. The army and Frontier Corps airlifted stranded families. Federal Minister Amir Muqam toured Buner. He promised oversight. But no national emergency has been declared. This draws ire for perceived inaction. Political figures like PTI’s Gohar Ali Khan, a Buner native, have pushed for faster rehabilitation. But partisan blame games—federal vs. provincial—risk delaying aid.
Critics argue this deluge exposes systemic flaws. Corruption in disaster funds. A lack of accountability. As one rights activist put it, “This is not just climate change; it’s corruption, deceit, and betrayal.” Drawing parallels with India’s Kerala floods, where community-led warnings saved lives, Pakistan could learn from integrating local voices into national strategies.
Buner’s tragedy isn’t isolated. It’s a wake-up call for South Asia’s flood-vulnerable belt. To rebuild, governments must forge stronger partnerships with NGOs. Invest in early warning tech. Enforce climate-adaptive policies. Provincial authorities should prioritize transparent fund allocation. The center must coordinate a unified response. For citizens, supporting grassroots efforts through donations can bridge immediate gaps.
Ultimately, as Pakistan grapples with intensifying monsoons, turning deluge into renewal demands not just aid, but accountability. Let’s ensure the next storm doesn’t catch us unprepared. Lives depend on it.
